At length out of the chaos there seems to emerge a
certain order. The major part of the square is covered with little
booths of boards and wicker work, very frail and able to be folded up,
probably every night. There are little lanes winding amid these booths;
and each manner of huckster has its own especial "circle" or section of
the market. "Go to the wine," "to the fish," "to the myrtles" (i.e. the
flowers), are common directions for finding difficult parts of the
Agora. Trade is mostly on a small scale,—the stock of each vendor is
distinctly limited in its range, and Athens is without "department
stores." Behind each low counter, laden with its wares, stands the
proprietor, who keeps up a din from leathern lungs: "Buy my oil!" "Buy
charcoal!" "Buy sausage!" etc., until he is temporarily silenced while
dealing with a customer.

In one "circle" may be found onions and garlic (a
favorite food of the poor); a little further on are the dealers in wine,
fruit, and garden produce. Lentils and peas can be had either raw, or
cooked and ready to eat on the spot. An important center is the bread
market. The huge cylindrical loaves are handed out by shrewd old women
with proverbially long tongues. Whosoever upsets one of their delicately
balanced piles of loaves is certain of an artistic tongue lashing.
Elsewhere there is a pottery market, a clothes market, and, nearer the
edge of the Agora, are "circles," where objects of real value are sold,
like jewelry, chariots, good furniture. In certain sections, too, may be
seen strong-voiced individuals, with little trays swung by straps before
them, pacing to and fro, and calling out, not foods, but medicines,
infallible cure-alls for every human distemper. Many are the unwary
fools who patronize them.